


To Survive

by TheShyArtisan



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Ending to God of War 3, Blood and Injury, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, God of War 3, Second chapter to come soon, Two Shot, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShyArtisan/pseuds/TheShyArtisan
Summary: Olympus was gone, Greece was gone. Whatever was summoning him from beyond the skyline was waiting.In which Kratos survives and makes his way North.





	To Survive

**Author's Note:**

> First bit of writing I've done in years, figured I'd share it here as well (was originally posted to tumblr). 
> 
> This is part one of two.
> 
> Enjoy c:

Kratos expected to die.

Yet –much to his disappointment– an inkling of life still stirred within him, offering him a vague awareness of his surroundings. He could feel the uneven ground under his back, the lash of cold rain and wind against his skin. Thunder roared high above his head and lighting danced across his eyelids, making him squeeze them tighter shut as if he could will himself dead. 

But this was not meant to be.

Liquid fire seemed to course through his veins, jolting his heart back into rhythm and setting his nerves aflame. The sudden pain threw his back into an arch and forced his eyes open. Kratos rolled onto his side, choking and gasping as he drew breath once more. He blinked in confusion and shifted gingerly, only to find himself sitting in a pool of his own blood. Slowly, ever so slowly, the gears of his mind began to click back together.

His fingers ghosted curiously over the tear in his abdomen, a self inflicted wound that should have taken his life. And yet, he still lived.

Denied release once again.

Bloodied lips curled back into an animalistic snarl and the Ghost of Sparta vented his frustration to the storm with a guttural roar.

How? How did he survive? And why?

Kratos knows that there are no gods to answer him this time, and he is left to brood in dangerous silence. All around him, his beloved home is ravaged by chaos and destruction. The air is heavy with the smell of wet, rot, and plant decay; dotted with swarms of bloodthirsty insects. The oceans swelled past their shores, drowning settlements and consuming mountain ranges. Dark storm clouds choked the sky, sending endless sheets of rain and hail to batter the ruined earth below. 

And all this death, all this ruination– brought about by his own hand. 

There was nothing left for him here.

Gritting his teeth, Kratos pushed himself to his feet and collected his blades. They settled upon his back in a cold familiar weight, and he allowed himself to be comforted by their presence. He then reached for the discarded tattered wings.

Hot tendrils of pain lanced through his back and chest as the wings grafted themselves onto his skin, fusing with the weakened muscles that rippled underneath. He gave them a few tentative flaps; they were slow to move and dropped feathers at an alarming rate, but they would serve their purpose. They had to. Just this last time.

Wearily, Kratos looked to the far horizon. The sun beckoned him, peeking through the storm for the first time since its god perished at his hands. Something else seemed to tug at him, calling out from somewhere beyond the sea. It urged him on and he was driven to answer. Ignoring the protests of his exhausted muscles, Kratos forced himself to take several agonizing steps backward, keeping his gaze focused on the sky. At length he stopped, judged the distance, unfurled his aching wings, and broke out into a run.

Despite the unsteadiness in his legs, he made his strides long and the space between him and the cliff quickly disappeared. With a desperate yell, Kratos launched off the edge, pumped his wings…

And plummeted.

Drained by blood loss, he blacked out; spiraling down, down, down, feathers trailing behind him like sparks from a comet. The ocean waters rushed up to greet him like an old friend, the cold spray reaching with deathly white fingers. But before the Aegean could reclaim him, Kratos awoke– revitalized by the foam. He struggled mightily against the rising tide and rain, surging up and away from a watery grave with renewed strength. The gentle touch of a warm updraft caressed his feathers and sent him soaring. To where he did not know, nor did he care.

Olympus was gone, Greece was gone. Whatever was summoning him from beyond the skyline was waiting.


End file.
